


Boredom Reigns

by Meredydd



Series: Boredom Reigns [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-22
Updated: 2014-07-22
Packaged: 2018-02-09 22:00:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1999467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meredydd/pseuds/Meredydd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her Majesty is bored.  And ships Sherlock/John.</p><p>Not really RPF.  Just...fluff.</p><p>Contains very (I think?) OOC royalty...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boredom Reigns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AtlinMerrick](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtlinMerrick/gifts).



> Based on a comment for AtlinMerrick's fic "I Never..." Pure fluff and nonsense. Will mostly make sense if you haven't read "I Never" but I really think it works better if you read "I Never" first...

**_12 August_**  
We are not amused.

 ** _14 August_**  
Have arranged a bit of a ceremony for Cheekbones. Just a fluff of an award, as these things go. He'll have the Short One with him, one is certain.  
Pip is amused by my interest—he never has let me forget my attempts at, ah, including a certain Liverpudilian guitar player in an outing on Our sightseeing barge. Pip suggested that We should stop watching soaps. Pip needs to find a hobby. One that does not involve speaking to anyone.

 ** _20 August_**  
Cheekbones didn't come. The Short one did. 

**_20 August, addendum_**  
Pip kissed the short one today. Had hopes it'd be the one with cheekbones. Either way, I'll take it.  
Have been informed that my, ahem, fixation on the pair of detectives is unbecoming a woman of my station. I'm the Queen—I decide what is befitting a woman of my station. If my namesake can expose herself to the troops and rally their morale, I can think racy things about Cheekbones and the Short One.

 ** _20 August, addendum the second_**  
Have realized my grammatical error. She did not expose herself to the troops (well...not...officially...). She gave them a bracing message of determination and support.  
I offered to expose myself to the troops during the second war. I was dissuaded.  
And no, that was not a grammatical error.

 ** _30 August_**  
Am determined. Pip keeps giving me _looks_ and muttering about the Short One's beard stubble. I am sure Pip is baiting me.  
Have accidentally misplaced Eugenie's birth certificate. Oops. It seems like this would require a very discreet inquiry.  
A discreet inquiry from a detective proven to be of aid to Us in the past. And whose brother I have by the short and curlies over that cake incident earlier this month.  
Pip can stuff it.

 ** _1 September_**  
Cheekbones found the birth certificate easily.  
Must entrust a different Lady in Waiting with my future schemes.  
Must re-assign Heather to Margaret. 

**_12 September_**  
One must admit when One's boredom with One's unending duties (yes, I am aware they are a privilege... that does not make them any less onerous and dull) has become a distraction. One admits such now.  
In the past ten days, I have: Hidden the other girl's birth certificate, hidden half of the corgis (to be fair, I simply lobbed handfuls of treats down a hill. Bless their wee legs and their inability to climb steep grades. They're all fine. Full of Snausages, but fine), 'discovered' Our sceptre to be missing, and reported the disappearance of three dozen petits-fours decorated with St George's cross and Union Jacks.  
Only the last one was truly a mystery. Mycroft Holmes, however, looked suitably guilty when Cheekbones 'deduced' their whereabouts as 'eaten'. One must speak with One's advisor and remind him that One does not wish to have One's snacks bogarted.  
Bogart is still a term, yes? It's been ages since I've been out on walkies without supervision.

 ** _20 September_**  
Have been informed that sending Cheekbones and the Short One on “missions of utmost importance” is rather illegal and I should request and require the aid of MI-6 for such things. Mycroft introduced me to some blond fellow with a rather disconcerting smirk (I do believe he was imagining Us in Our dainties) but...it wasn't the same.  
Cheekbones and Shorty bring a certain _je-ne-sais-quoi_ to their investigations. I highly suspect it's what Katherine refers to as “UST.” I questioned her lack of the letter “l” but have been assured it truly is an acronym. And also received a promise that her user name on those 'fan fiction' sites is not traceable to Us or Our family.  
One hopes that One's granddaughter-in-law does not find One's account. _ReginaRexySexy_ is fairly innocuous, yes?  
Pip has taken to mocking my (not even a little) prurient interest in the Dynamic Duo (now I know that is a thing! Isn't it? I need to ask Heather. Damn, it's Ella now, isn't it? I'll ask whichever blonde one passes this way next). One must have something to do between One's Duties.  
And if wanting two attractive, dynamic, interesting, sexy subjects of the crown to just kiss already is wrong, then I don't want to be right.  
Pip is reading over my shoulder and mocking me. I reminded him about Henry VIII and his tendency to lose spouses. He reminded me that I am not a direct descendent.  
Note to self: see if guillotine is still in storage.

 ** _1 October_**  
IT HAPPENED!  
Apparently, I've been humming “God Save the Queen” all morning.  
Well, why shouldn't I? It has been a glorious day.  
I had a true mystery to report this time—a dead body, in One's Own Chambers. And no, it wasn't Pip. The guillotine is in storage still, and sadly very rusty. He lives to consort another day.  
I didn't even have to request their presence—Mycroft Holmes, bless his cotton socks (note to Self: Send large box of petit-fours to his office. Don't bother with fancy decorating. He deserves unfettered ganache.) summoned his brother and the Short One before dawn. The case was solved by morning tea. I returned to my personal chambers after bestowing some frippery on that woman who wrote all of those books about flowers and seems to think my great-aunt is speaking to her via petunias to find Cheekbones and the Short One staring at one another in a way I can only describe as _intense_ and _surprisngly hotter than expected_. Pip and his bodyguard had not reached Our door yet so only I, my lady-in-waiting (oh, I'll just call them all Heather. I have no idea who this one is. Becky? Brooklyn? Note to self: provide approved list of names for girl children born in the Commonwealth) and two of Our guards were the only ones to hear Cheekbones ask Shorty, “Will you ever shut up about kissing him?”  
“Only when it stops amusing me, how angry it makes you!” (Shorty has an attitude problem. I like that.)  
Cheekbones looked fit to growl (I rather hoped he would), but instead, he kissed Shorty! Kissed him. Reader (which is just me, but still...), he _snogged_ that man. Heather (I'm almost certain it's Larkspur now... or maybe Blueberry? Something awful.) made a noise much like one of my corgis when it steps on a thorn, the guards looked... well. One looked terribly interested, the other looked away. Shorty looked stunned. Cheekbones... looked right at me. He smirked. The cheek of that man!  
I may or may not have smirked back.


End file.
